by Jules Court
When she reached for it, he pulled it back. “Start talking and then you get the beer. My place, my rules.” He took a swallow off his own bottle. “Mmmm, that’s good. Bet you wish you had one.”
The corners of her mouth lifted at his teasing until she realized that he was trying to make her feel better when she was the one who’d wronged him. He didn’t deserve to get yanked around like she’d been doing. Guilt gnawed at her insides.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“That earns you a sip,” he said, holding the bottle out.
She took the cold bottle from his hands, their fingers brushing. Tilting the bottle back, she took a long swallow. Then she resolutely placed the beer on the coffee table. “Megan is my sister,” she said. “I’ve had sole custody of her since I was twenty-one and she was ten.”
He sat down next to her on the couch, but she kept her eyes forward. If she saw any pity in his eyes, she wouldn’t be able to continue.
“Drunk driver,” she said. “My parents were on their way home from a party. It wasn’t even that late because Mrs. Connolly from next door was the only person they could find to watch Megan, and she doesn’t stay up past ten o’clock.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “So you’ve taken care of Megan for how long?”
“Eight years. She just left for college—if I can get her to stay there. I think she’s scared, so she keeps coming home.”
“Don’t you miss her?”
“More than anything, but I want her to start a new life. I want her to have every opportunity, experience everything. These years go by fast and she needs to take advantage of them.”
“Because you didn’t get to. That’s your parents’ house you live in, isn’t it?”
“Used most of the insurance money to pay off the mortgage. I dropped out of college and used the rest of the money to pay for nursing school. I needed to take care of Megan, and nursing seemed like a steady career.” She looked off to the side. “I was eleven years old when she was born. When my mom came home from the hospital, I remember being angry. I was used to being the only child and having my parents all to myself. I wasn’t interested in sharing. But then I met Megan for the first time. She was so tiny. And I remember...my dad put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘You’re her big sister. She’s going to look up to you, so it’s important that you always take care of her.’”
“Who took care of you?”
“I had to be strong for Megan. She lost her parents, I didn’t want her to lose her home or her friends, too.” Elizabeth had lost all her friends. They’d been sympathetic at first, but hanging around the chick with the dead parents and the traumatized little sister was a bummer. One by one, they’d peeled off, swept up in the drama and excitement of their own lives. Elizabeth couldn’t blame them. She probably would have done the same.
* * *
He’d found it. The hidden truth at her core. Under her sunny smiles and come-hither looks lay a deep pool of sadness. He wanted to be the one to fill it with joy instead. But all he could do was lamely take her hand. It felt as soft, delicate, and fragile as china in his own.
“Doesn’t explain why you tossed me on my ass,” he said. Every line of her body was screaming that she didn’t want his sympathy or, even worse, pity.
And he didn’t pity her. It was terrible that she’d lost her parents, but she’d stepped up and put her sister first. It was admirable. He’d been right when he’d depicted her as a Valkyrie. She had a core that was pure steel.
“I never brought any guys around Megan. My college boyfriend broke up with me when I didn’t come back to school. He never even came to the funeral. And there was no time for dating with nursing school and Megan and then work. Plus, I had enough problems handling her without adding some guy to the mix. You don’t know how many times I had to hear, ‘You’re not my mom,’” she said, pitching her voice to mimic a bratty teenager.
“So Megan catches you making out with an incredibly handsome guy in your kitchen and you panic. Something like that?”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “Exactly.”
He placed his beer on the table. “I still think you need to show me how sorry you are.” He wanted her and the only games he wanted to play anymore were those they played together. No more denying himself.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “How do I do that?”
“You can start by swinging your leg over and straddling me.”
She moved over him, facing him so her knees flanked his thighs, and placed her hands on his shoulders. Their faces were only inches apart.
“Like this?” Her voice came out in a breathy whisper.
He only had to move his head a fraction to capture her soft lips. She followed his lead, molding her mouth to his. When he dipped his tongue in to taste her sweetness, she met it with her own. Her hands curled on his shoulders and he felt the prick of her nails through the thin cotton of his shirt.
He released her lips only long enough to peel her shirt over her head, tossing it aside. He cock throbbed at the sight of her breasts covered only by a lacy white bra. But he could wait—they still had a few games left to play before he’d be satisfied.
He worked her clasp open and slid off her bra. Her pointed nipples were the softest blush of color. He took one into his mouth and gave it a little flick with his tongue. She gasped and clasped him tighter.
* * *
Elizabeth was beyond thought. His talented tongue swept away all rational thought as the pleasure centers in her brain lit up like she’d just taken a hit off the highest quality drugs. When he teased her breasts with darting sweeps of his tongue only to capture a nipple in his mouth, applying the sweetest pressure, she thought she’d crawl straight out of her skin from the force of her reaction. She anchored herself on his shoulders as her body trembled from the force of her need. It had been so long since she’d been touched. He pulled back and she gave an involuntary sound of distress.
He stroked her face. With a wicked smile, he said, “Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of you.” And then his hands were around her waist. With one quick motion, he’d managed to swing her around so her bottom landed on the sofa. He crouched at her feet to untie her sneakers, but there was nothing of the supplicant in his posture.
Within seconds he had her shoes and socks off. His hands started at her jean-clad ankles and smoothed upward. His thumbs stroked the inside of her thighs and he was almost there. They moved up, but didn’t stop where she so desperately needed to be touched. Instead, he unsnapped the button of her jeans.
She lifted her bottom and helped him peel her jeans and panties off until she sat naked before him. She leaned forward, determined to rip the clothes from his body and take him inside her so she could get relief from this agonizing desire.
“Not yet,” he said.
“What?”
“We’re going to play a game first.”
“If you take out Monopoly, I swear to God I will murder you.”
“You’ll like this game. It’s called How Long Can You Last. I’m going to play with your sweet body and you’re going to try not to come.”
“I don’t think you understand how this works. I want to come.”
“I’m challenging you to hold off for as long as you can.” He gave her an annoyingly sexy smirk. “Chicken?”
“I’m the one naked.”
“Yes, you are. I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.” He placed his hands on her knees and gently pushed them open. “This is beauty,” he said.
He was looking at her most intimate places. Anyone with a scrap of decency should feel embarrassed. She wasn’t decent. Instead, the look of rapt wonder on his face sent a rush of heated desire coursing through her making her limbs feel heavy. Between her legs she could feel herself grow hotter and wetter.
He tugged her forward and spread her wider so he had even more access. With one hand he simply cupped her mound, letting her feel the weight and warmth of his palm.
“Is that all you got?” she asked in a husky voice.
He placed a finger over her mouth. “Shhh.”
She gave him a little nip in retaliation, but then he began to move the hand cupping her, gently sliding it up and down, making no attempt to part her folds yet.
He removed the finger from her mouth and replaced it with his lips. His kiss was as soft as the gentle stroking of his hand between her legs. But she needed more than this maddeningly slow caress. Her hips rose of their own volition to pump against his hand demandingly.
And then he was parting her outer lips. One finger nudged her entrance, but only to gather moisture for his clever fingers. He stroked up and down, up and down. Her clit throbbed, but he didn’t touch it, opting instead to trace her inner labia.
His mouth left hers. He bent his head and traced blazing kisses down the column of her throat. He didn’t stop until he reached her breasts, kissing and nuzzling them in time to the stroking of his hands.
Somehow her arms had encircled his shoulders and she found herself clenching him tighter. Her hips were flexing up and down. And then, finally, one finger moved to stroke her clit. She made a strangled noise deep in her throat. He circled it once, twice, three times. She could feel her thighs trembling.
He pulled back.
“Don’t stop,” she all but begged.
He stood up. “I’ll be right back. You can touch yourself, but don’t come,” he said before pushing open the door to his bedroom.
If she touched herself she’d go off like a shot. She needed it so badly, but she sat on her hands instead, waiting for his return with an exquisitely tortuous need.
When he returned, he was holding a long, thin paintbrush, which he presented with a flourish.
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to not squirm.
“You’re my canvas,” he said. “Lean back.”
He flicked the bristles over her stomach, causing her muscles to jump. And then he moved the brush higher, running the scratchy bristles over her hardened nipples. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand another moment, he moved it down her body. He swirled it over her stomach and chest as though creating art only he could see. And with each stroke, she became even more alive with sensation. Then he trailed the brush even lower. With one hand he parted her pussy and with the other he ran the brush over her.
She almost lifted off the couch. The roughness of the brush was too much. She couldn’t take much more. He’d barely touched her clit and she was ready to go off like a rocket. He flicked the brush back and forth. Just a few more strokes and she’d be there.
He pulled away. “Open your eyes,” he said.
She’d been so caught up in sensation she hadn’t even realized her eyes had fluttered shut. She managed to wrench them open.
“Take a few deep breaths,” he said. “Just let yourself stay there. Don’t go over. You’re not going to quit on me yet, are you?”
“I’m going to murder you if you leave me like this.”
“I wouldn’t. Trust me. It will be so much better if you don’t rush it.”
She’d only had rushed self-administered orgasms for so long, and now he was preaching delayed gratification? She reached forward and fisted his T-shirt. “You need to lose the clothes, pretty boy.”
“But I’m not done painting you.” He pulled the brush back and with a flourish spun it around so the bristles pointed away from her. “I’m feeling inspired.”
She was wide open for him, and he dipped the smooth handle of the brush into her. She was so slick, it entered easily. The handle was thin but she felt every millimeter slide into her as he gently moved it forward. When he began carefully pumping it in and out, she had to grab his shoulders to anchor herself against the rush of pleasure. Especially when he began pressing on her clit with his thumb. She let out an involuntary moan.
“I have to feel you,” he said. He pulled the brush out and tossed it aside before thrusting a finger in her. It was warmer and thicker than the brush. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he said.
“It’s been a long time,” she tried to say. But the words came out garbled because there was only him and his finger penetrating her, stretching her.
“I’m adding another,” he said just as he slid a second finger into her. It was pleasure spiced with a little bit of pain as her body adjusted.
“Breathe,” he said.
But how was she supposed to do that when he began thrusting, using his other hand to rub her clit? She became a desperate thing as her body moved on its own accord, thrusting her hips up, her hands clenching on the worn cotton of his T-shirt, pleasure sending her higher. Her muscles seized, the walls of her vagina clamping down on his fingers, as she went up in flames. The orgasm crashed over her, waves of ecstasy rippling through her body. Nothing the tepid, businesslike orgasms from her vibrator had prepared her for.
When she finally came down, Will was there to catch her. He pulled her into his arms as she trembled with the aftershocks.
She tugged weakly at his shirt. “Lose this.”
He stood up, fisted the hem of his shirt, and peeled it upwards, revealing a flat stomach and then a muscled chest before pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Then he shucked his jeans and boxers to stand naked before her. His cock was as perfect as the rest of him. Hard and thick, jutting out from his body.
He held out his hand and she took it, coming up to stand on unsteady legs. He led her to his bedroom, which was exactly how she’d seen it on that video chat that seemed so long ago now. At this moment, she couldn’t conceive of a time when he hadn’t been in her life.
She lay down on his bed while he rummaged in his nightstand drawer. He pulled out a condom, quickly unwrapping it and sheathing himself in one smooth motion. She held out her arms, wanting to feel the press of his body against hers.
Instead of coming to lie down on top of her, he gently parted her knees and settled between her thighs. He pressed a kiss to her mound, then used his fingers to part her folds. His tongue flicked out to tap delicately on her clit before swirling around it, each lick bringing her higher, as though she hadn’t just had the most explosive orgasm of her life.
Her heart beat faster, the blood whooshing through her veins as he suckled and licked and teased. She rubbed the bottom of her feet against the bedspread as her skin prickled. She couldn’t stop herself from grinding up against his mouth, her greedy body desperate for another release.
Higher and higher his devilish mouth took her until she was once again perched on the dizzying edge. Pleasure ricocheted throughout her body until she thought she couldn’t bear any more. Her body began to spasm but he continued to suck her throbbing clit until the unbelievable happened. Instead of dissipating, the waves began building again.
He released her clit and moved up her body until they were face to face, with his weight balanced on his elbows. Lining his cock up against her entrance, he moved his hips forward. She gasped when the tip stretched her tight entrance. Barely inside her, he halted and lowered his forehead to hers. With a thrust of her hips, she pushed up, causing him to slide another inch inside with a burn that was more pleasure than pain.
He was breathing heavily now and she knew it was from the effort of holding back. He flexed his hips and lodged a little more in her. It was so good, but she wanted it all. She pressed upward and hooked her legs around his hips, pulling him forward. He slammed all the way home, knocking the air from her lungs.
She could feel every thick hard inch of him inside of her, filling all her empty spaces.
“Are you all right?” he asked, picking his head up and brushing back a strand of her hair.
“Y
ou feel so good,” she told him without a trace of shame.
It was enough to spur him into action. He moved his hips and she gasped. His first few strokes were long and slow, but soon he gathered speed. She met him on every thrust as he slammed into her hard and fast and deep, churning the waves pounding inside her higher and higher. She wrapped her arms around him and hung on as he drove her relentlessly into another orgasm, her vagina clenching around his cock.
This time when she came, he followed. She pulled him down to her as his body shuddered.
When he rolled off her onto his back, she leaned up on an elbow. “I won,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Score is two to one.”
“Just give me a minute to recover and we’ll have a rematch,” he said.
Chapter Ten
Will woke up before his alarm clock. The early morning light peeking through the blinds illuminated Elizabeth sleeping peacefully in his bed, blonde hair streaming across his pillow. He slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to disturb her with the almost overwhelming urge to whistle.
Heading for the shower, he reconsidered waking her up so he could ask her to join him. But she probably needed her sleep. They’d worked each other over pretty good last night. Maybe he’d go get bagels and coffee and surprise her with breakfast in bed.
He walked back into the bedroom, towel slung around his hips, to find Elizabeth sitting upright in his bed, blinking owlishly. It would have been funny except the covers had fallen to her waist, leaving her bare-breasted. His body tightened at the sight. Screw bagels, she could be his breakfast in bed.
She looked over at the clock. “I’m going to be late!” She dashed out of bed, just a pale streak shooting past him.
He followed her into the living room where she was wiggling into her jeans.
“Can’t believe I fell asleep,” she was muttering to herself.
